Norm was not my uncle, but he was one of those special people in our lives who, although not related by blood, still was like family. I attended his funeral at St. Paul Lutheran in Oak Lawn, IL, the other day and because I hadn’t been to St. Paul in many years, I accidentally pulled into the Hilton Hotel parking lot instead of the church lot.
I only mention this part about the parking lots so anyone with ties to St. Paul (like my friend, Paul, the Principal at Trinity in Sturgis, MI) might know that things around the church and school are a lot different today than they were in 1964 when Norm’s son and I peddled our bikes from our West Englewood neighborhood in the city all the way out to 95th and Cicero and ate lunch at the White Castle on the corner. The White Castle and St. Paul are still there, but the Pancake House is gone and many other things have changed. Just an update...
Norm’s son, Ron, and I attended Golgotha Lutheran Elementary School together for eight years, no Kindergarten back then. We were both baptized and confirmed there, went to Luther High South together for four years and eventually were roommates for two years at Concordia RF (Ron had attended Concordia Junior College Ann Arbor his first two years). This alone is not what made Norm like family. What you also have to know is that Norm and my dad had both been baptized at Golgotha Lutheran and, although a few years apart in age, they, too, had attended Lutheran elementary school together there. Norm was 82, and my dad would have been 84 if he were still alive. These connections are what make people more than friends and often more like family.
So what’s the point? Well, you all know that I like to tell stories, and when you go to a funeral, you are most certainly going to hear some great stories. Ron, if you’re reading this, relax. I am not going to share any of the stories about our grade school, or high school, or college years together…like the ones I told your eager-to-listen nieces at the funeral.
The thing I remember most about Norm was that he was an incredible Christian gentleman. No, let me state that differently. Norm was an incredible Christian gentle man (two words). Now, that doesn’t mean he wasn’t a ‘man’s man’ or a manly man. Norm was plenty strong and manly – I saw his stern side when us guys were sent to his office one Sunday morning, The Sunday School Superintendent’s Office. One visit was enough – I didn’t want Norm pulling my dad aside and sharing anything about that visit anymore than I would have welcomed a call to my house from the school principal. A single warning was sufficient.
Seated next to me at the luncheon following the funeral was Rick, one of Norm’s nephews, and another grade school and high school classmate of mine. Rick told quite a few Norm stories, but two really struck me, and I’d like to share them. The first was rather short, but it captured Norm’s patience. The Norm I knew was always patient, soft spoken, almost mild. Like I said, he was a gentle man, but that did not make him less of a man.
Rick told of a time when Norm and a cousin had torn apart the engine of a 46’ something-or-other in Norm’s garage. The men took the engine apart bolt by bolt and rebuilt it only to find that after reassembling it, the timing was slightly off. The men again completely tore down the engine, once again to the last bolt, and once more rebuilt and reassembled it. I am ashamed of the things I’ve discarded because I didn’t want to take the time to work on and fix them. Not just “things,” sometimes even relationships… Norm was a man who worked faithfully and patiently on making things and doing things right.
Where does such patience come from? Well, like all good things, it is a gift from God. Norm was happily married for 52 years, and Rick told the folks at our table that not too long ago he had been sitting around with a bunch of cousins and nephews, all guys, discussing some of the weightier things of this life, including marriage. Guy talk, real man stuff.
“Uncle Norm walked into the room, and it hit me: here is the person that possesses the wisdom and knowledge that we need. If anyone can help us, and especially these younger fellows here, it is Uncle Norm. ‘Uncle Norm, you have been married to Aunt Gladys for over 50 years! That’s amazing, it’s wonderful. Can you please tell us, what is the secret to that kind of achievement?’”
“My Uncle Norm thought for a minute while we all waited quietly, and then he said, ‘Give in.’”
“Give in! That’s it? I thought to myself, he’s got to be kidding. He’s a veteran of WWII, he can tear down and reassemble a car engine, he’s been a leader in the church, and this is his advice: ‘Give in.’ I have to say, this isn’t what I thought these young guys needed to hear, Uncle Norm. ‘Give in,’ are you sure?”
“Well, the alternative is…that you can fight. It’s your choice, but I’ve found that fighting never works so, the secret to 50 years of happy marriage, yes, I’d still have to say, ‘Give in’ works the best.”
“If I speak in the tongues of men and angels but have not love… If I have the gift of prophecy… If I can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge… If I have a faith that can move mountains but have not love, I am nothing. Love is patient, love is kind, it does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud, it is not rude, it does not seek its own way, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes always perseveres. Love never fails…” 1 Corinthians 13
And perhaps Norm and St. Paul might add, “Love gives in.”